Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-06-21 02:12 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2009-06-21 02:12 pm
Fake News (FPF) | Not Quite Oscar Material | NC-17 | Jon/"Stephen"
Title: Not Quite Oscar Material
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen”
Content: Cross-dressing, (bad) roleplaying.
Summary: Jon does a lot of things to make Stephen happy. This is one of them.
Word Count: 810
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: So I broke down and signed up for kink_bingo. I’m sure we’re all terribly surprised. This is for the kink “roleplay/au (domestic/tradesmen)” because I’d been kicking it around in my head ever since this thread, and when it showed up on my card, it seemed like fate! Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
“C’mon, Stephen,” Jon sighed, adjusting the tool belt that sat awkwardly on his hips. “You know I’m not very good at this.”
“You agreed to try,” Stephen huffed, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow, and Jon had to admit that he made the perfect frustrated housewife, expression and body language complementing the peach dress he wore nicely, not to mention the apron, heels, pearls, and all. Jon even had to admit that he liked the picture he made, but he also had to face facts.
“Well, yeah,” he acknowledged. “That was before you introduced the costumes. I feel ridiculous, and I’m not an actor. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep a straight face.”
“We’re not going for an Oscar, here!” Stephen protested. “I just want you to ravish me on the dining room table! Can you do that?”
Well, when he put it that way... “Yeah,” Jon said. “I think I can do that.”
*
For all the attention to detail that Stephen had paid in creating their respective costumes, they didn’t last very long.
First to come off was the tool belt, right as Jon pressed Stephen up against the table. They kissed heatedly, and soon Stephen was on the table, leaning back and hiking up his dress, looking expectant. “I need this,” he groaned, shuddering slightly as Jon crawled over him, leaving his jeans in a pile on the floor, teasing his way up his thighs. “My husband, he doesn’t—” he added, and Jon bit his lip to keep from giggling. He didn’t know what to say, but he figured that was fine—handy men were supposed to be the strong and silent type anyway, right? “Please,” Stephen continued, and it wasn’t like Jon had ever been able to resist begging. He used his mouth first, kissing along Stephen’s thighs—he hadn’t bothered with panties—planting teasing kisses on his erection, pinning his hips in place so he wasn’t able to thrust, and Stephen whimpered. “More, please, I need it,” he begged, and Jon took his cock into his mouth, glancing up, satisfied by the way Stephen’s head had fallen back in pleasure.
He used his lips, his tongue, teasing along the shaft, even bringing a hand to fondle Stephen’s balls, bringing him close to the edge—very close—but backing away at the last second, not pushing him over, and reveling in the groans and whimpers of frustration that Stephen let out. “Fuck me now,” he demanded, in between gasps. “Satisfy me. No one else has—I need it, oh, fuck, I need it.” Jon pulled away then, dropping one last kiss on Stephen’s cock, and he had to hand it to Stephen; the man was very good at staying in character.
The lube was already on the table—Stephen hadn’t been happy about the sacrifice it’d been concerning realism, but Jon had insisted—and Jon grabbed it, slicking up two fingers and pressing them inside Stephen, stretching him and preparing as he arched and hissed underneath him. Soon he was panting, asking for more, and Jon complied, slicking up his cock and pushing inside him, fucking him like he’d asked for—hard, desperate, as though finally fulfilling some long unresolved desire.
“Yes,” Stephen hissed, fingernails digging into the wood of the table, and Jon couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit more turned on every time Stephen’s dress rubbed against him. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned. “Harder, fuck, take me, I need it.”
Jon was merely along for the ride by this point, no control of his own to speak of, speeding up his thrusts to coincide with Stephen’s desires, pounding him into the table, fascinated by the look of utter sublime on Stephen’s face, something that only spurred him on further. “Fuck, Jon, so close—I—” moaned Stephen, and Jon gave one more forceful thrust, coaxing Stephen’s orgasm out of him, making him come hard. Just one more thrust, then two, then three, and finally—finally—he came too, grunting Stephen’s name and nearly collapsing on top of him.
He managed to pull out and roll over, so as not to crush Stephen, slinging an arm around his waist. Stephen curled into his embrace, and Jon hazily thought to himself that they must make quite a picture, drowsy, sated, and content, lying right on top of their table, Stephen still in his frilly peach dress and him still wearing the ridiculous flannel shirt Stephen had conned him into putting on. “Told you it’d be worth it,” murmured Stephen into his ear, and Jon smiled to himself.
“Okay,” he conceded. “You were right. It was worth it.”
“So,” Stephen said, moving so that he was looking Jon in the eyes. “Next time, maybe we could play the king and his concubine?”
Jon groaned. The things he did for love.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen”
Content: Cross-dressing, (bad) roleplaying.
Summary: Jon does a lot of things to make Stephen happy. This is one of them.
Word Count: 810
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: So I broke down and signed up for kink_bingo. I’m sure we’re all terribly surprised. This is for the kink “roleplay/au (domestic/tradesmen)” because I’d been kicking it around in my head ever since this thread, and when it showed up on my card, it seemed like fate! Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
“C’mon, Stephen,” Jon sighed, adjusting the tool belt that sat awkwardly on his hips. “You know I’m not very good at this.”
“You agreed to try,” Stephen huffed, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow, and Jon had to admit that he made the perfect frustrated housewife, expression and body language complementing the peach dress he wore nicely, not to mention the apron, heels, pearls, and all. Jon even had to admit that he liked the picture he made, but he also had to face facts.
“Well, yeah,” he acknowledged. “That was before you introduced the costumes. I feel ridiculous, and I’m not an actor. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep a straight face.”
“We’re not going for an Oscar, here!” Stephen protested. “I just want you to ravish me on the dining room table! Can you do that?”
Well, when he put it that way... “Yeah,” Jon said. “I think I can do that.”
For all the attention to detail that Stephen had paid in creating their respective costumes, they didn’t last very long.
First to come off was the tool belt, right as Jon pressed Stephen up against the table. They kissed heatedly, and soon Stephen was on the table, leaning back and hiking up his dress, looking expectant. “I need this,” he groaned, shuddering slightly as Jon crawled over him, leaving his jeans in a pile on the floor, teasing his way up his thighs. “My husband, he doesn’t—” he added, and Jon bit his lip to keep from giggling. He didn’t know what to say, but he figured that was fine—handy men were supposed to be the strong and silent type anyway, right? “Please,” Stephen continued, and it wasn’t like Jon had ever been able to resist begging. He used his mouth first, kissing along Stephen’s thighs—he hadn’t bothered with panties—planting teasing kisses on his erection, pinning his hips in place so he wasn’t able to thrust, and Stephen whimpered. “More, please, I need it,” he begged, and Jon took his cock into his mouth, glancing up, satisfied by the way Stephen’s head had fallen back in pleasure.
He used his lips, his tongue, teasing along the shaft, even bringing a hand to fondle Stephen’s balls, bringing him close to the edge—very close—but backing away at the last second, not pushing him over, and reveling in the groans and whimpers of frustration that Stephen let out. “Fuck me now,” he demanded, in between gasps. “Satisfy me. No one else has—I need it, oh, fuck, I need it.” Jon pulled away then, dropping one last kiss on Stephen’s cock, and he had to hand it to Stephen; the man was very good at staying in character.
The lube was already on the table—Stephen hadn’t been happy about the sacrifice it’d been concerning realism, but Jon had insisted—and Jon grabbed it, slicking up two fingers and pressing them inside Stephen, stretching him and preparing as he arched and hissed underneath him. Soon he was panting, asking for more, and Jon complied, slicking up his cock and pushing inside him, fucking him like he’d asked for—hard, desperate, as though finally fulfilling some long unresolved desire.
“Yes,” Stephen hissed, fingernails digging into the wood of the table, and Jon couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit more turned on every time Stephen’s dress rubbed against him. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned. “Harder, fuck, take me, I need it.”
Jon was merely along for the ride by this point, no control of his own to speak of, speeding up his thrusts to coincide with Stephen’s desires, pounding him into the table, fascinated by the look of utter sublime on Stephen’s face, something that only spurred him on further. “Fuck, Jon, so close—I—” moaned Stephen, and Jon gave one more forceful thrust, coaxing Stephen’s orgasm out of him, making him come hard. Just one more thrust, then two, then three, and finally—finally—he came too, grunting Stephen’s name and nearly collapsing on top of him.
He managed to pull out and roll over, so as not to crush Stephen, slinging an arm around his waist. Stephen curled into his embrace, and Jon hazily thought to himself that they must make quite a picture, drowsy, sated, and content, lying right on top of their table, Stephen still in his frilly peach dress and him still wearing the ridiculous flannel shirt Stephen had conned him into putting on. “Told you it’d be worth it,” murmured Stephen into his ear, and Jon smiled to himself.
“Okay,” he conceded. “You were right. It was worth it.”
“So,” Stephen said, moving so that he was looking Jon in the eyes. “Next time, maybe we could play the king and his concubine?”
Jon groaned. The things he did for love.